The Precious Quest Read online

  I gestured for Dorn to bring her closer, and he guided the young woman forward. I rose before her, feeling overly tall beside her slight build. Grabbing a handful of her long bangs, I cut through her hair with my dagger to reveal her eyes. Her skin was translucent, and I could see the blood pulsing along the blue veins in her neck. By the marks on her throat, I knew the Nodurms had lost no time with her.

  “Look here,” I commanded, and she met my stare.

  I skinned her eyes with my gaze, seeking to read her, but her eyes were as guarded as her face. I decided to use my medallion to test Dorn’s theory.

  “Saigim,” I whispered.

  In response, Lumen flipped through the girl’s emotions, rippling her inner thoughts to revelation. I found the grief and loss of the conquered, the confusion of a girl-woman, the blackness of violation, and I found the tin of fear. More importantly, within her memory, there were stories suited to a chronicle ward, stories that held the history of her people.

  Breaking the link, I flipped my cape back and settled on the fur hide. I knew Dorn spoke the truth, but the girl would have to prove her worth to the Horde. Leaning on my left arm, I gestured at her.

  “Recount the battle,” I instructed.

  Her first words trembled on the hot air when she spoke. “We rose with the dawn, but you were already among us.”

  I gestured again, and she lifted her chin and spoke louder.

  “You came from the east... casting no shadow before you, and your war horn was the strangled cry of your first victim.”

  Her voice became stronger as she told the story to the silent people standing around her.

  “Blood ran like a river on your blades, and the teeth of your hounds tore out the heart of the District. Your Queen was without mercy, mowing down our pride, as we had scythed wheat.”

  As she spoke, I considered her value against the threat she might pose to the Horde. If I allowed Dorn to keep her, the Nodurms would be vengeful. But if I left her with them, their games would waste her. Dorn said she was a chronicle ward. That meant her knowledge could save all of us. Dorn was not familiar with these lands and had to dig deep to find information that I could draw upon to lead the Horde. The girl was young, but she would have begun training when she began to speak. The value of her memory could not be taken lightly. I looked at Dorn. He was listening intently comparing his chronicle to hers—two perspectives of the same event. The facts would be sound on both sides. The telling would be different.

  The girl was also turning into a woman. I could see her young breasts pressing against her shift. And from Lumen’s seek of her mind, I learned that she had bled during the last moon. Many of us had stopped bleeding long ago—when children had stopped being born. The girl’s value to the Horde outweighed my gift of the old man, and the base needs of Kaj.

  “You stacked our dead on the fields they had sown, but no seeds will grow following this harvest. The District is barren. Life has been denied us.”

  Her last word died out on the air, and she assumed the position of regard, kneeling before me.

  I leaned forward on the throne. “What is done is past,” I said.

  The girl paused, as she searched her chronicles. Deep within her mind, she found the proper response. “Look to what is coming,” she replied.

  I was pleased. She carried proof of former contact with our people. I looked directly at Kaj but addressed the Horde as I said, “Dorn, the Chronicle Warden is blessed this day.”

  Kaj held my eye, while his face burned a dark red. The shock of his impudence rippled my tendons.

  “Challenge?” I asked calmly and stood to face him.

  The word spread through the Horde like flames whispered in a field.

  Kaj stared at me with hatred for the passing of three pulses. Then he said, “No,” and bent low to touch his square-tipped fingers to the ground. “No challenge.”

  It was too late. Kaj had held my eye too long. Alive, he would be a danger to Dorn, and a disturbing force within the Horde. I moved forward into the clearing created by the groups’ fluid movement outward.

  “Challenge.” I stated.

  Kaj rose a sheen of sweat shining on his pronounced upper lip. The muscles in his hairy arms rippled as he removed his cape. His weapon of choice was a wide broadsword, the thick cross guard imbedded with rubies from his land. Each ruby, it was told, was a drop of blood from his ancestors. Kaj’s weight was his advantage with the sword, but he was slow. I laid my long sword aside and pulled my daggers from my thigh belts. Bending my knees into the Mantie pose, I began to circle.

  Kaj moved in with wide, heavy strides, his flat feet kicking up red dust. He swung down with his sword, creating momentum with the stroke. I let him herd me, but my retreat was light, my steps dustless. For a second his left lung was exposed, but I did not jab. Then the sword came up at my chest, and I arched back allowing the blade to slip past my skin.

  His arms were up, flowing with the weight of his sword. His heart was exposed for the strike, but I did not jab. He swung from the right, attempting to slice through my guts. I leapt back as the blade cut the air, then forward as his sword pulled him to the left, exposing his throat. My arms darted in with the Mantie snake strike and for a moment all movement stopped. Then Kaj staggered back, a shocked look in his eye, and his blood spurted high into the air.

  The arching spray slapped the chronicle ward in the face as she moved forward, her eyes riveted on the death before her. Kaj fell heavily to his knees. Dropping his sword in the dust, he clutched his throat, as if trying to hold in his life. The silence held until his eyes rolled and he toppled.

  Turning I was surprised to see the girl standing so close, bloodlust shining in her eyes. She held her white smock clenched in her fist, the blood-spattered cloth wrinkling between her clawed fingers. Gone was the frightened, timid rabbit that had been presented to me.

  I tapped Lumen into the Nodurms for their reaction to the loss of their leader. Already, they were arguing over who would get Kaj’s sword. I looked to where the sword lay on the ground. The hard-cut rubies in the sword’s handle shimmered like liquid. Then the red drops ran from the sword, scurrying into the dust like centipedes in the forest. The ancestors had called back the drops of blood for Kaj was the last of his line.

  I walked to where Kaj had dropped his cloak. Wiping my daggers clean on the wool, I listened to the excited thrumming of the Horde around me. Sheathing my weapons, I turned slowly and considered the crowd. Many struck their armour with their fists and their expressions showed acceptance of my justice. I paused before Kaj’s wife, Nailia. She stood straight, her face void of emotion. She met my eyes without hesitation, and then she bowed.

  I moved on.

  When I came to Dorn standing by the chronicle ward, I was disturbed by the triumphant look in the girl’s eyes. Dorn did not seem to notice the change. He was busy comforting the girl with a fatherly arm.

  I looked intently at him. “Her life is yours–take it if you must,” I said.

  Dorn was too pleased to heed my warning.

  Chapter 8: The Goddess Speaks

  As night approached, a great fire was lit in the midpoint of camp where a meal fit for the Firslain had been laid. The dry heat broke, and the breeze cooled just enough to make us feel as if the air was worth breathing. The members of the Horde stood around the fire. All eyes were turned to me, and I held my back straight against the fatigue of the past few days.

  “To the brave belong all things!” I called out, surprised at the strength in my voice.

  The warriors roared their approval. I waited until the noise died.

  “Your bravery has filled our table,” I said gesturing to the food. “You have accepted those who would be your new kin and have welcomed them into the Horde.”

  Many nodded and those with wúsc-bearn patted them on arms and shoulders.

  “Though our numbers do not grow, we hold steady.” Some eyes slid from mine, followed by empty silence. I had poked at our gr
eatest fear, and even I could see the need for more words.

  “We hold steady,” I repeated. “For in the heart of every man and woman of the Horde beats the strength of two.” I struck my chest with my fist.

  The thumping of arm guards on chests rose like a wave, then died when I raised my hand for silence.

  “WE ARE NOT ALONE. THE District suffered as we do. But there are always answers, and the goddess will lead us to them.” I smiled with reassurance.

  Some seemed relieved at my words, willing to keep trusting, keep believing. I noted the brows that drew down, the eyes that looked away, the lips that tightened.

  “Let the brave eat!” I called out to end the moment.

  The Horde moved in on the food, a stream of leather and woolen-clad people, eager to fill their bellies and forget their woes. My hunger was upon me like thunder, but I stayed behind with Dorn and Rserker, and we echoed with emptiness until all had their food. Finally, we stepped forward to help ourselves to the newly slaughtered pig and lamb roasting on the open fire. There were tree fruits and roasted farce nuts, tubers from the ground and spices the cooks had never used before but had tampered with this day. I scooped food onto my plate with my bare hand as did every person before me.

  Moving away from the table, I kicked a log onto its end, and sat down to relish the meat. Dorn and Rserker settled on either side of me. For long we gorged, not speaking. Grunting and chewing and swallowing, I felt my skin grow warm, and my eyes light up with new vigor.

  Still, I did not attempt to speak over the din. I savored it, as I treasured the aftertaste of the spices. From my left, the new chronicle ward approached with her eyes downcast. She carried a tray of fruit cider in wooden mugs. Kneeling before me, the girl offered up a drink. Her attempt at humility rang false, and I hesitated, recalling her vindictive reaction to Kaj’s death.

  “It is the custom to trust,” Dorn said quietly.

  “It is my custom to live,” I said.

  Rserker broke into a hearty laugh that shook his thick frame, “And it is my custom to drink!” he roared, grabbing two mugs and drinking from both at the same time.

  The cider ran down his beard, trickling behind his chain-mail shirt. Dorn laughed at his robustness and took the last mug, smiling at me over the rim.

  I bit back a comment about waste. Rserker knew why I had paused before the mugs. Poison had been used to remove stronger Queen’s than I from rule. And yet, he drank it, risking himself to reveal a threat to me. I looked at his hand wrapped around the cider mug and saw the glitter of a black pearl on his ring. I had given the ring to Rserker as a gift in recognition of his loyalty to me. The giving of the pearl had been easy. The taking of the pearl from the Gorkons had been more difficult and much more painful. My hand slid down to my thigh where the Gorkon’s spear had pierced me. Thanks to Hinfūs, there was no scar, no ache—only a memory.

  SEVEN YEARS EARLIER, we had challenged the Gorkons to battle. None pestered the Gorkons, but taking risks quenched the Horde’s thirst for conquest, and I was young. And, the Gorkons had pearls.

  The Gorkons were shaped like us, but had long, flat feet and slim one-jointed fingers that were webbed together with translucent skin. They lived on the coast in caves carved by the ocean’s waves. Rarely did they come to land. They were always wet and slimy, except when they stayed out on the ocean rocks too long in the sun. They farmed black pearls and could not resist staring into the smooth orbs under the sun’s heat. Some would become enchanted by the reflection in the round gems, gazing until the saltwater slime on their backs baked. Too long in the sun, and their black skin would crust and slough off. The worst of these pearl gazers looked like walking rot.

  Rotting or no, they were gruesome to behold, but we were willing to look upon them to get to their treasure. The Gorkons did not hide their pearls in caves; they wore them pressed into their side fins. The fins hung down like broken wings from their waists ending in four little hollow tubes of skin that could wrap and hold a pearl like a sock holds feet. The bigger the pearls in the fins, the more respected the Gorkon.

  We could not fight them in the water, or in the caves. We needed to have the advantage of solid land. So, we had captured a young one, and its fearful cries had brought the brutes to shore.

  My back had chilled with fear in the morning sun, when those slogging beasts dragged their legs through the shallows to reach us. They carried spears made of sharp coral and rock slings that could fling sea urchins at bow speed. But their battle of choice was hand-to-hand combat. No human hands could hold their slippery limbs or long grip their unanchored skin.

  Our archers hit them with a volley when they were still knee-deep. Most of the Gorkons showed no reaction to the arrows. They felt little pain, much like fish.

  Our plan was to cut the fins from the beasts with our long swords, but it was not easy. The fins were soft and swung from front to back as the Gorkons moved. I spotted one with immense sagging side fins. Running to it, I got its attention with a slice to its sagging belly. It tried to grab me, but I kept my feet moving, ducking its arms and dashing in at the fin. The sand caved under my feet and dancing from my enemy’s reach became more difficult with each passing minute. I twisted from a spear jab and spotted my chance. Slicing upward, I caught the fin with my blade, close to the beast’s side. The fin ripped free and flew into the air, spinning end over end with the weight of the pearls.

  The Gorkon croaked in rage as it sprang away, ignoring me now that its pearls were hewn from its side. It ran clumsily across the sand, scrambling in blind greed for its status stones. I raced after the creature to cut off its other fin, not seeing a new Gorkon rise silently from the sea, behind me.

  Just as the injured creature turned to face my attack, a spear flew from behind and felled me in mid-step. The shaft shook my bones as it drove into my thigh, the force pushing me chin first to the feet of my enemy. I sent out a siren on Lumen and felt Rserker’s immediate reply through my medallion.

  ~ I pledge this heart that beats, these lungs that breath, this mind that thinks to thee ~

  I swung my pierced leg over and twisted onto my back. The pain flashed brighter than the sun, but even blinded, I met the beast’s sling with my blade. Sand from the blow filled my eyes. The Gorkon stepped on my sword arm with his cold, flat foot, holding it to the ground.

  ~ Rserker! ~

  Through my watering eyes, I could see the Gorkon from the sea moving closer. Soon I would have two on me. Pulling my short dagger, I sliced up at the Gorkon’s calf. It let out a grunt falling back away from my arm. Pain would not stop it, but it knew where its tendons were. I tried rolling up onto my feet, but the spear handle dug into the ground, the point pushing me into a moment of blackness.

  ~ And while there is breath and beat and thought, I pledge all to my Queen ~

  The second Gorkon fell on me, his shagging skin, cold and wet. The agony of the spear was pushing me in and out of a dark shower of white sparks. I could feel the fin pearls, cool against my side as the Gorkon began to wrap me in a suffocating hold.

  ~ Rserker ~

  This time, my warrior brother did not answer me through Lumen. Instead, I heard the pounding of his feet, the whistle of his slicing blade, and then there had been nothing but dead silence.

  RSERKER’S LAUGH BROUGHT me back to the present and the fire. From the sounds surrounding the night, the members of the Horde had released themselves to celebrate. I watched the twisting legs, the leaping backs as a few danced around the pile of blazing logs.

  As warriors do, Dorn and Rserker were sharing their tales of the District conquest. They hadn’t noticed my lapse into the past, and they didn’t notice when I walked softly past the sway of the flames.

  Pulling on my hood, I hid my face beneath it. Cloaked, I could move among my people, basking in their camaraderie without the crust of reverence. The smell of sweat and burned meat blended with the breath of cider on full stomachs. I could hear a man talking loudly, confident and brass. O
ccasionally, a voice shrieked or argued. I moved outside of the circle, away from the thick scent of the fire smoke.

  Here in the dark, the Julees spoke softly among themselves as they tended the animals at the outer edge of the camp. They were a quiet people, more interested in caring for herds than being among their own kind. Beyond, I could see the black shapes of the hounds as they snapped and yipped, gathering for their nightly hunt. I moved further still, out to where the guards walked the red soil, or hunkered in the trees, keeping watch.

  The song of the Horde followed me, all the sounds of a community rich with emotion and life. Yet, empty. No babe cried, no youth entertained with somersaults, or questioned and learned.

  Sorrow pulled at my mouth, drawing down the corners. The Horde was drained. I put my hand to my stomach—a board of tight muscle that held my body together like reeds formed a basket. And there I stood and sighed, until the scent of sage floated to my senses. Sage—the sacred herb of Goddess.

  Curious, I walked back toward the camp, invisible in the dark. Just past the animals, a lighter shadow stirred by a small fire. Nethaz was drawing water from the barrel reserves. He bent and his armour bands of brown leather tightened across his broad back. I stopped outside of the fire’s light and watched the giant in silence. Nethaz turned and looked blindly in my direction. He was unable to see me in the dark, for few had my vision.

  Assured he was unobserved, Nethaz stood straight, his elbow high, and drank from the mug.

  When I entered the light from his fire, I spoke. “The wind does not burn, tonight.”

  He slowly lowered the mug from his wet lips. “A welcome change.”

  His blue eyes sought mine beneath my hood. I slipped it back off my hair, and we stood for a moment, taking in the sight of each other. His high forehead was circled by a blue ribbon of cloth that snaked into the plait of his shiny, black hair. The single braid hung down over his shoulder, as thick as my arm.